"Young Master Shannon, this way, please." The manager bowed low, making a welcoming gesture.
Inside a luxurious yet tasteful VIP lounge.
A portly, greasy-faced middle-aged man stood up and scurried forward. As he moved, the fat on his shiny face quivered, and he offered a fawning smile. "Young Master Shannon, you're here! Please, come in."
A slight smile touched Thomas Shannon's lips as he strode with long legs to the sofa and sat down.
Sophie Sullivan stood at the doorway, her eyebrows tightly knitted. This was the "good merchandise" he mentioned? Was he sure he wasn't toying with her?
Maxwell Sinclair had received a call early that morning. Young Master Shannon of Golden Wing Palace, the walking King of Hell, had business to discuss with him.
Everyone was scrambling, practically breaking down doors, to forge some connection with K Group. He never imagined he would be the one personally chosen!
Such an honor wasn't something just anyone could receive.
